


see the albatross hung 'round his neck

by ThePsuedonym



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Non-Chronological, Not A Fix-It, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi, Star Wars Day, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 23:25:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14531640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePsuedonym/pseuds/ThePsuedonym
Summary: Everything is the same, even when it's not.





	see the albatross hung 'round his neck

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by Fifteen Ways to Stay Alive by Daphne Gottlieb.

1.

Sleep was proving to be elusive tonight.

Idly staring up at the shadows on the far wall as they slipped silent and wet across the dark, weather-resistant fabric of their shared tent was providing no relief that night, nor did listening to the relentless patter of rain as it barraged the roof in a discordant melody. Not even the warm body curled up beside him – one that kept the nighttime chill at bay more efficiently than the thin standard-issue blankets that valiantly struggled to cover them both – could lull him into unconsciousness.

Turning his head, he absently traced the curls that framed his partner’s slack face using his eyes, committing the peaceful sight to memory. In the middle of a war, a quiet (or relatively so, anyways) moment was one to be cherished and remembered fondly.

For the first time in what felt like years, what probably _was_ years, he felt completely and utterly relaxed. At ease with himself and his lot in life in a way he hadn’t been since before the war had begun. Stars, since he had been told he would be sending children – the 212th, his Padawan – onto the battlefield.

If all he could do for his men was to, perhaps, looked the other way and pretend ignorance when supplies, credits, hells, even entire ships went ‘mysteriously missing’, that would be enough. It _had_ to be enough, had to be worth all the deaths and destruction wrought in the name of war, on the Republic’s behalf. And perhaps they would find that the hangar or storage levels were conspicuously absent of patrols when some of the brothers finally decided that they could no longer fight a war they had never asked to be wage, to be born for the sole purpose of fighting that war.

( _it was for the greater good_ )

No, he would do nothing about that. Just like he knew nothing about the datapads containing helpful and detailed directions to the nearest neutral systems, or instructions on how to locate the galactic displacement shelters that were becoming awfully more common as more and more citizens found themselves ousted from their homes as the battlefield expanded, to be violently destroyed by explosive charges, blaster bolts and Force knew what else.

And if all he could do for his former Padawan was this, then it would be enough. It had to be enough. More and more often he could feel the turmoil that raged within Anakin leaking into their bond, wondered how he could before so casually dismiss his distress or utterly fail to notice the harrowing confusion and indecision that threatened to tear him asunder.

Wondered how long he had been struggling to hide his pain from his Master, how long he had been holding it inside him without opportunity for release. As much guilt wracked Obi-Wan with every new battle or siege they were ordered to, Anakin knew it tenfold; with every bright life snuffed out by enemy fire, his Padawan felt it as his own.

Months had passed as he struggled to devise a solution, some way to placate the tempest raging fiercely within the younger man, until the answer fell suddenly and neatly into place.

Obi-Wan offered himself.

He could not bear to give Anakin his heart; scarred and bruised, beaten and raw, it was too damaged by his previous loves to contemplate. But he could still give the other man a part of himself. Provide a temporary measure of relief. Physical exertion to calm the adrenaline that still sped through their veins; meet mouth with mouth, skin to skin, hands and sweat and blood. Mutually fighting for some measure of meaning in the endless conflict that had become everyday reality, endlessly seeking the pace and relief that flitted transparent and fleeting through exhaustion and post-sex dreams.

Obi-Wan hadn’t meant to love Anakin but somehow he did anyways. And he knew the younger Jedi returned the sentiment one-hundred fold, as was his nature.

His heart beat slow and steady underneath Obi-Wan’s ear. Pure and open and undamaged.

All of it, his.

He didn’t deserve any of it.

Without warning lips pressed into his hair, accompanied by a low rumble that made the chest underneath him reverberate. “Your thoughts are too loud,” Anakin hummed, voice husky from sleep. “What are you thinking about?”

“…Just tomorrow. Go back to sleep, Anakin.”

The other male sighed but relaxed as instructed, breathing evening out once more. Obi-Wan’s gaze returned to the ceiling of the tent, mind continuing to run in circles, chasing itself without an end in sight.

( _it was for the greater good_ )

( _it had to be worth it_ )

( _because if it wasn’t—_ )

2.

Intellectually, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was different from other Jedi. Yes, he had been raised outside the Temple for the first nine years of his life, and he knew that the others were aware of this fact as well. That they, the older members of the Order, continued to attempt to treat him no differently confused him. He understood the value of not singling Anakin out, but they also _couldn’t_ logically expect traditional methods to be very effective, either.

And yet they did; and when those efforts inevitably failed, they shook their heads and called him in to handle the unruly Padawan – and later Knight – instead.

He had his own ways of dealing with the boy. Anakin, when he was still young and impressionable but too jaded and cynical for someone his age, was comparable to a star hooked up to a nano-trigger and prepared to go supernova in everyone’s faces at a moment’s notice. Not to imply violence, but it was exceedingly easy to set him off in any direction with his volatile emotions. Knowing what triggers were most effective to achieve the desired outcome was the key to handling him.

While he had dimmed somewhat over the years, those once-bright and unfettered smiles rarer with maturity, his moods became more viciously mercurial so he more closely resembled a waxing and waning bundle of energy and emotion. Almost too much, even, for a single person to handle when directed onto them alone.

Even Obi-Wan needed protection when he came too close to a star, dared to stare directly into its blinding light.

Because Anakin simply burned from within, near-bursting at the seams with his joy, grief, anger, love; everything that the Jedi had disavowed in the name of the Republic. And he had somehow seen fit to put it all, to put his _heart_ , his _trust_ , his _love_ into Obi-Wan’s shaking and unsteady hands. Those same hands that had failed Cerasi and Qui-Gon and Siri. Anakin may have been built to burn but Obi-Wan hadn’t been born flame-retardant. Everything, all of it had become too much. He had looked directly into the light and scarred himself; he had come too close to the sun and he came away burned.

Obi-Wan had taken in Anakin’s love, rejoiced in it, returned it and they were both wounded in the end. Every star was destined to die. Even love burned itself into ashes. He knew this. He _knew_ this.

Now if only they could accept it.

3.

It was becoming increasingly difficult as of late to pretend that he couldn’t see exactly what his Padawan was doing. Nor was the boy incredibly stealthy about his attempts, either, no matter what he may have thought. In fact it was a bit amusing, really, until his thoughts began slipping too far along and he began mistaking _amusing_ for _adorable_ and caught himself staring at Anakin a tad longer than was strictly necessary, at places where a Master’s gaze _certainly_ shouldn’t be roaming.

Nor was he very inclined to admit how much effort it took to tear his gaze away when he realized he was gawking at his student. Again. Force, this wasn’t supposed to be an issue he was having; he was nearly twenty years Anakin’s senior. Of course nearly two decades amounted to nothing when it came to other, much longer-lived species, but they were both Human and – to make matters infinitely worse – the boy was his student. His _Padawan_ ; it would not only be immoral for him to pursue a romantic relationship with him as Obi-Wan was his teacher, but it was also against the Code.

And if he dared… Oh, he could see it now: he would be stripped of his title and his citizenship in the Republic, then (self-)exiled to the Outer Rim for the rest of his conceivably short days.

(Many, though admittedly not all, cultures tended to view such breaches of etiquette as inexcusable. Unforgivable.)

And Anakin? He didn’t doubt they would see the young man as innocent – it would have, after all, been Obi-Wan abusing his position as Anakin’s Master – and he would thusly be reassigned to a new Master. Possibly forced to attend several appointments with the Order’s mind healers to ensure he didn’t try anything reckless during or after his former Master’s trial and (self-)exile.

Obi-Wan shuddered at the thought.

It wouldn’t be worth the loss; it _couldn’t_ be. He would much rather be able to see and interact with his student but suffer less intimacy than yearned for, than risk everything for one night together and alone. One night without barriers or hesitancy or anything else that might disincline them from succumbing to their carnal desires.

Now he twitched as the last thought crossed his mind. Breathed deeply and bent over, holding his head between his knees and suddenly grateful he had chosen to meditate on the matter in the privacy of his room.

…Force, he was in over his head, wasn’t he?

4.

Anyone could be certain of several things when it came to Tatooine: that it was hot, covered with sand, still ruled by Hutts (and would be for the foreseeable future) and privacy from prying eyes and ears. No one came to the desert planet unless they were seeking something illegal in the Repu— _Empire_ , unless they were forced to, or unless they were running from something.

On Tatooine, everyone had a past to escape.

The unspoken rule of discretion understood by its inhabitants wasn’t his only reason for first coming to the Outer Rim planet, but it was a major factor in his decision to stay. No one would be seeking a former Jedi in Huttese territory, certainly not one who was passing himself off as a crazy old man living in the Jundland Wastes.

But he couldn’t build a false reputation if he was never seen, and he needed supplies anyways. Going to Mos Espa was more dangerous as he risked getting stuck in the desert during a storm, but it was better – at least in the short term – to avoid the Lars where he could. And the larger settlement would cede better supplies and information for him to peruse.

Hence his presence in one of the city’s cantinas, for the latter commodity. When he sat down at the bar the Bith minding the counter poured him a drink without prompting and walked away. Nonplussed he glanced down at the drink – an azure, frothy concoction that smelled none too friendly for Human consumption – and took a small sip. Rough on the way down with a mellow, slick aftertaste. It was no Corellian brandy but he’d certainly had worse.

Something twitched in the Force as the establishment went silent; he reached out, carefully, and found no (unusually) hostile individuals. Then he realized that the patrons’ attention was fixed on one of the still-functional holoscreens, alas with broken, sparking speakers.

He caught sight of the being onscreen and nearly dropped his drink. _No, it couldn’t be…_

The Duros beside him laughed drunkenly, pulling the rest of the room out of their collective stupor while the Sith onscreen continued murdering innocents on a planet far away from Tatooine. Their eyes rolled toward the Human, an inebriated grin distorting their features.

“Did the old man _know_ Tall, Dark and Murderous?” the blue-skinned alien sniggered, fetid breath masked by a healthy swallow of their drink.

He glanced at the holoscreen where the black-clad Sith sliced cleanly through another Wookie. Still as skilled with a lightsaber as he had been in his previous life.

“No,” he eventually said, tearing his eyes away from his former student. “I suppose I never did.”

5.

Anakin cut him off in the same manner he had adopted since the ruse devised by the Council had been brought to light: brusque, succinct and concise. “No.”

It was a good thing that Obi-Wan could be just as stubborn as his hot-headed former Padawan. “Anakin,” he pressed, “we need to talk.”

“ _No_ ,” the other snapped, whirling around to face his Master instead of running away as he had the past week. Fortunate that the hall they’d stopped in was empty of other Jedi as it already seemed to be gearing up to a fight. Obi-Wan frowned at the thought and it didn’t go unnoticed. “What, did you think I’d drop everything as soon as I learned you were still alive?” Anakin shook his head as a weak groaning noise filtered into the air. “I have _duties_ and _responsibilities_ that don’t go away just because— ’cause someone died.”

His frown deepened at the evasion. Anakin was clearly distressed by the necessary deception, but Obi-Wan didn’t understand why. It had been for the greater good, for the Republic; it was the Chancellor’s life at risk and Anakin was close to Palpatine. Shouldn’t he be, if not grateful, at the very least pleased that the politician hadn’t been killed?

“And I don’t expect them to,” was the calm reply, “but you’ve been avoiding me since I came back and I’d like to know why.”

A noise of disbelief escaped the younger man’s throat while the scraping sound increased in volume. “Why? Are you— You’re kidding me. You’d better be joking. That’s a damn horrible joke.”

“I’m quite serious, Anakin.”

Another distressed sound ground out from his former Padawan as his right hand fisted tighter; the background discordance worsened in turn and Obi-Wan belatedly realized it was coming from the prosthetic limb.

“You died. You let me think you died, that you were killed because…”

He broke off and, when he didn’t continue, Obi-Wan continued, “Because it was for the greater good, Anakin. That is our duty as Jedi.”

Anakin wasn’t yelling anymore, voice hoarse and small; the grinding of the servos in his hand had stopped as well. He almost looked defeated, deflated of his characteristic passion. It was… unnerving, to say the least. “And what if it was me, Master? What if I had died?”

The thought made Obi-Wan freeze— and by the time he recovered, Anakin was gone.

Obi-Wan was familiar with the term ‘heartbreak’ and was no stranger to its effects, after Siri, after Satine. Though it had hurt, deeply even, to be rejected by the both of them – for duty, both times; for duty, this time – neither compared to what he now felt.

No matter how many times he pressed a palm to his chest, feeling the steady beating under his palm and the even intake of air, how often he slipped a hand underneath his tunics and robes to feel bare skin under his fingertips, it still felt as though someone had wrapped a durasteel band around his upper body. An invisible pressure was constricting his breathing until it hurt if he dared inhale too deeply.

Everything he looked at seemed dulled and unfocused, unable to capture his attention. Food tasted bland and every texture scratched whenever he rubbed against it, leaving his skin splotchy red and irritated. People sounded so far away, their voices echoing softly when they repeated themselves for his inattentiveness. Smells were flat and musty, uninteresting and unappetizing.

Even the Force was listless when he tried to meditate, slipping away when he grasped for it and lingering only for a few minutes at a time when he managed to keep a hold on it.

Despite all of that Anakin had, much to his relief, not taken the news as badly as Obi-Wan initially feared he would, though the uncharacteristic apathy was almost as worrying as the originally anticipated fury would have been. Certainly it was far more unsettling and had not gone unnoticed by the other Jedi, who seemed somewhat perturbed but hesitantly pleased by his newfound calm façade.

Already they were beginning to drift apart, their bond strained for the loss of intimacy despite the utter lack of aggression between them. The only times he had seen his former Padawan since his announcement was in the morning when they rose from bed – separate beds now, of course – and when they retired. Anakin could have been on the other side of the galaxy in between those times for all Obi-Wan knew.

Dearly he hoped it was only a passing phase between them, and a short one at that. Despite the separation he still found himself craving for the familiarity they had once shared, wanting the closeness to another living being that understood him. And, to a lesser extent, because he suspected their distance to be the cause of the physical effects he suffered; he had become too used to Anakin’s presence suffusing the Force around him and now suffered for his absence.

They would recover, Obi-Wan was certain, however painful the healing process might be.

7.

If not for the tinges of remorse he could feel leaking into the Force, Obi-Wan would have struggled to keep a grimace from his face as he finished his current conversation; instead he was able to school his features into something neutral when he moved to face his former student.

…Who was wringing the fingers of his left hand with his prosthetic – which couldn’t be anything but painful – with eyes trained somewhere over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Anakin?”

In response the false hand tightened around its organic counterpart, forcing Obi-Wan to tamp down the reactive spike of concern. It was nothing more than a nervous tic, albeit one that Anakin had once been forced to outgrow after the loss of his limb. Surely if he was in pain then he would cease the behavior.

After too long, he finally spoke, aberrantly demure. “I’m sorry Master.” Immediately Obi-Wan’s hackles rose and again forced himself to calm. Blasted war— “I spoke out of turn and disappointed you again. I have been behaving out of turn and…” He shook his head and dropped his gaze to the ground as the lingering sense of regret thickened considerably. “I have not been fair to you, when you aren’t to blame. Your friendship means everything to me.”

Never had Anakin entertained a penchant for doublespeak and while it may have been welcome under other circumstances, Obi-Wan found himself hating the newfound inclination for the word game. They both knew perfectly well what Anakin was referring to and in the face of the sudden apology he couldn’t bring himself to care about the other’s worrying behavior over the past few months. Or not as much as he might have, given the _other_ topic brought up, one too sensitive for him to address properly in the Temple hangar.

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan couldn’t say what he wished to, to reassure him that their friendship had not been damaged, but he could hedge around the subject. Shaking his head, he continued, “You have come far from the youngling you were, haven’t you? Strong and wise and a greater Jedi than I could ever hope to be.” Catching Anakin’s eye he continued with a knowing edge to his voice, “And I sincerely hope to continue this conversation once I return.”

The smile he received was sheepish and contrite in turn; good, he knew how Obi-Wan felt about the sudden need to play Shadow but also that he was sincere and absolutely not pushing his Padawan off for more important business.

“May the Force be with you.”

“And with you, Master.”

8.

Somehow, seeing them together was painful in a way he should have expected – but it still struck him hard as a strike to the solar plexus. His breath had caught in his throat when he first glimpsed them around the curve of the pillar; seeing the sheer _joy_ on Anakin’s face as he embraced the Senator had nearly sent him reeling backwards, heart aching in his chest. Tugging on tendrils of the Force to hide the oblivious couple from curious onlookers, and him from them and everyone else, he leaned against his own column to try and reacquaint himself with some faint semblance of equilibrium as he continued to look on.

Anakin was now holding her out at arm’s length, the scrutinizing look on the Knight’s face once familiar to Obi-Wan from long absences finally broken and quick, secret moments of intimacy stolen in starships, on battlefields and the rare crossing of paths when their own missions brought them back together for a precious day or two. True, they were more often deployed together than any other former Master-Padawan pairs involved in the war, but that closeness had only made their inevitable separations all the more painful.

And now that expression of soft enrapturement was focused on someone else, someone who was not Obi-Wan. Because he had given up everything they had together for his former Padawan’s sake. The truth couldn’t make the deep and lingering ache beginning to settle in his chest any less potent, but he somehow managed to ignore it long enough to watch the illicit lovers conclude their impromptu meeting and go their separate ways, still unaware of his presence. Letting the column take his weight, he closed his eyes and cleared everything else away.

For a moment, just a moment, Obi-Wan allowed himself to remember what it was like to have mismatched hands encircling his own, to see sparkling and mischievous eyes locking with his as their owner prepared to do something terribly underthought and dangerous but filled with apparently unending love and trust all the same.

To love and be loved in return.

The seconds trickled by and he tucked all of it away, back into the recesses of his mind where such things belonged. A Jedi Master did not need to feel loved to do his duty, even if his heart had been ripped out by his own volition.

But that traitorous corner of his mind pondered all the same, sighing and worrying at the matter like an uneasy akk with a bone.

He wondered if Anakin remembered as well.

9.

Off-key beeping and the sighing of a ventilator filled the empty silence of the room, its occupants too distracted or occupied to contribute to the noise. Anakin was out cold on the bed, still recovering from his latest exploits in recklessness; Obi-Wan sat in the visitor’s chair, an uncomfortable molded plastoid that reminded him uncannily of the troopers’ armor before its adornment with their chosen colored paints.

The latter’s gaze was locked on a fold in the crisp, sanitary-cream sheets, his gaze lost somewhere in a vista that only he could see, thoughts speeding off a million parsecs away. He knew now what needed to be done, but it didn’t mean he did not dread its necessary implementation.

Master Che hadn’t been the first to notice what was kindling between the former Master and Padawan, but she was the first to actively acknowledge it. Before it drew the Council’s attention, before they could be thrown out of the Order, she had _empathized_ with Obi-Wan, of all things. She had a lover of her own once, she admitted, but had to let them go for the greater good. Their duties and differences had begun tearing them apart and to remain close they had to lose their intimacy.

Vokara said she didn’t want to see the same happen to him and Anakin. Obi-Wan didn’t want to lose Anakin as a lover, but even less so as a friend and confidante. It would be like tearing his own heart out but if he had to drive his Padawan away – because he knew Anakin, knew that he wouldn’t accept the inevitable as an answer and would hunt for a third option, a way out until his dying breath –  he would do it in a heartbeat.

He could almost see it now, what they would become. Just like Anakin’s Padawan days, but with far less exasperated amusement and far more irritation and anger. And that was even presuming they managed to continue flying under the Council’s radar, because if they didn’t—

Anakin _needed_ to be a Jedi, Obi-Wan had promised Qui-Gon before his untimely death that he would see the boy he had risked his own position for trained; would he still be upholding his vow if his student was thrown from the Order they had sworn themselves to? The Order that had been all Obi-Wan had ever known?

No. This was necessary. Their relationship, fulfilling as it was, was not worth the risks that came alongside. He had lost sight of that for the short-term benefits, but Obi-Wan knew now what he needed to do. Even if it felt like he was stabbing himself and twisting the vibroblade, slowly.

10.

Panic made his heart stutter and his mind grasp blindly for anything, absolutely _anything_ useful or relevant. His thoughts kept skipping uselessly, a broken holoplayer forcibly jumping back to the red-red blood leaking around his hands, the broken moans of pain that accompanied every shift and beat of the heart, the primal shuddering of the land around them as dusty bedrock split asunder, instead of being _cooperative_ and providing something that might garner assistance, even another useful pair of hands.

Anakin moved underneath him again, the hiss of breath again alerting the hyperaware Jedi to the injuries the other was suffering; he pressed his hands harder into the tacky, soaked tunics, around the broken durasteel support that had made its home within the younger male. It was not immediately fatal, the shaft hadn’t hit anything vitally important, but he could feel the bright Force signature – already weakened with exhaustion and injury – dimming the longer he failed to act.

He was not trained for this. His specialty lay in negotiation, in reading others and trying to help them see sense, to act for the greater good; not in healing, restoring hartiness to the harmed, vitality to the wounded. He had no idea how to help Anakin, couldn’t even remember what languages were spoken on the planet—!

“Hey.” The word, though weakly spoken and nearly obscured for the damage still being wrought around them – there was still a _groundquake_ raging, at the least he should have moved them somewhere safer! – snapped him out of his fugue. Anakin was staring at him with an intensity he shouldn’t have possessed in his state, but as with all things was defiant against any expectations. Maybe the pain was so great he was becoming numb to it; or he was being his usual stubborn self, despite it. “Y’gotta know how to call for help, Master. Basic, Huttese, Mando’a.”

Yes. Yes, he was right. They had covered that in the briefing, before they had landed on the Force-forsaken planet. Basic, Huttese, Mando’a: help, hopa, gaa’tayl. He knew this.

Taking a deep breath and choking on the dust in the air, he yelled out to anyone that might be listening and hoping for some response: “Help! Hopa! Gaa’tayl!”

The sounds of collapsing buildings answered him, followed by the thick silence that always crept up after massive loss of life and destruction. Someone would find them before it was too late.

Again, “Help! _Hopa! Gaa’tayl!”_ Because where there was Skywalker, one will always find Kenobi not far behind.

11.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Without looking he knows Anakin’s eyes were on him; just as his conviction hummed in the Force, so did the younger man’s confusion at the sudden statement. Though he knew he should Obi-Wan couldn’t turn around and meet the questioning gaze, only kept his own on his work as he prepared his tea.

“Obi-Wan?”

Setting the kettle to boil he turned around and leaned against the countertop, taking a deep breath to steel himself. “I can’t keep doing _this_ ,” he gestured inarticulately between them, “whatever we have. I can’t, the war, the men, the Council—”

He’s not entirely sure how he’s trying to go about solidifying his intent – people called him the Negotiator, yet he couldn’t even explain himself to his former Padawan, not when it mattered – but he knew the time had come. Faking his death for the Council had convinced him it was time; they couldn’t keep hurting each other as they were or there would be nothing left to save, if they both even made it out of the war alive. At the least he wanted to come back to an Anakin who he could wrap his arms around once the fighting was finished, even if he couldn’t take the man to bed with him.

“It’s just too much and I don’t think I can handle a relationship on top of that, I— Anakin?”

Obi-Wan knew his Padawan’s temperament better than anyone. It would have been reasonable to predict he wouldn’t handle the news well, would fight and argue and cling to whatever scraps of intimacy remained; would hold onto it as tightly as he could, like a starving anooba snapping its jaws on an inattentive womp rat.

So seeing him wordlessly rise from his seat and leave their apartment was a little unexpected. His shields were up and strong; Obi-Wan couldn’t glean any impression from the Knight as he departed, not sparing even a glance for his former Master. And former lover now, he supposed.

Former. Silently Obi-Wan slid down to the floor, the knowledge of what he had done making his knees weak. Had he been clear enough? Why they had to end it before it became poisoned, rotted, corrupted? That they had to save their friendship because they could never last together, not the way they wished to be? It was for their own good, he had to understand that. There had to be something left to fight for.

Around him, the Force twisted and churned but refused to assure his thoughts.

12.

There are no Sith. There are no Separatists. There are no Jedi. There is no Republic. There is only the here and now; only Obi-Wan and Anakin.

At least, that was what he kept telling himself. The thoughts, despite Anakin’s best – if unknowing – efforts, kept creeping and crawling back into his mind and whispered insidiously to him as they made love in the room they’d unintentionally sequestered themselves in on _Resolute_.

Distantly, he felt sorry for the poor trooper who would be forced to try and explain the mess that they would inevitably create during their… _activities_.

Though they always tried to scrub away the evidence before it could be discovered, he had the faintest sense that there would be no opportunity to do so this time. Or he did, right up until the thought was wiped clean from his mind when Anakin traced the curve of his ear with his tongue, teeth nipping and gently tugging on the lobe.

The younger man descended to his neck and placed several more marks alongside his collarbone, pressing into his shoulder as hips snapped at the correct angle to send them both into a long, slow climax. Obi-Wan breathed deeply as it ended, taking in and savouring the heady mixed scents of musk, sex and sweat as Anakin’s breath puffed warm and wet against his neck, slowly evening out to a steady rhythm.

Finally satisfied he sighed in contentment and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth. When he tried to pull away Obi-Wan tightened his hold on his lover, keeping him still by means of the legs wrapped around his waist. “Just a little bit longer,” he quietly murmured, cupping the back of Anakin’s neck and pulling him close to kiss him. The former Padawan immediately caved in to the silent request and relaxed against Obi-Wan, who tucked him in closer.

“It’s only us tonight,” he whispered in reassurance, softly stroking the other’s cheek with the back of his hand. “No war, no fighting, no duties or responsibilities that we have to tend to. Only us.”

In the darkness of the room he couldn’t see Anakin’s expression, but he could feel when the younger man again pressed his face into the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck. “Only us,” he echoed back with only the faintest hint of forlornness and heartbreak, of fear for what the Force had laid in store for them.

There is no Code. There is no war. There is nothing that can tear them apart.

13.

Realization was not swift and sudden, one of the infamous Kaminoan lightning bolts that the men spoke of near-reverently, amidst claims of cleaving starships in two with the sheer force of their strikes. Nor was it slow and inexorable, the coming of the end of a golden age, mockingly replaced with tarnished silver and gilded bronze.

Rather, it was the conclusion of an inevitable reality. Obi-Wan had already seen what was going to come and tried to steel himself for its certain occurrence. That it might have been prevented by his own actions was unimportant; he himself had primed the situation for its horrid manifestation and knew there were none to blame but his own self.

That he knew the truth did not make it any easier to bear.

Selfish desires would lead one to the Dark Side. It was not selfish to give up happiness for the greater good; it was not selfish to put the needs of others before his own. Even when he was carving a hole into his soul as he did so, even if he hurt his other half just as deeply. It was all for the Republic. It was for _Anakin_.

But none of that precluded the younger male’s happiness. Obi-Wan was – and still is – the only thing chaining him to the Order. Before, he would have endured its trappings and bindings for his former Master’s sake, but now his hold was only as strong as the war’s hold on the galaxy. Once the Clone War ended there would be nothing keeping him with the Jedi, with _Obi-Wan_.

Even now he sought happiness with another, someone who would not hold him against the ideals of the Republic and find him wanting (not that Obi-Wan ever had, but). Who would not hold his tumultuous past against him, could see past the trials and tribulations that came with such an unorthodox upbringing.

Who else would he turn to but the former Queen and current Senator of Naboo? he thought a tad bitterly. She was one of the first off-worlders Anakin had met from the fateful mission that had seen them sidetracked to Tatooine; and she was certainly closer to him at the time than Obi-Wan had been. That they had no contact for a decade seemed to have no impact on how swiftly they reconnected; and without the awkward attraction Anakin may have otherwise exhibited at the time to stall their reconnection, he now had ample opportunity and perfect excuse to visit and court the Nabooian senator.

Stifling a sigh he shook off his melancholy thoughts and refocused on the present. He had done this for Anakin; begrudging him his fortune was simply uncouth. He could weather this.

For one horrible, heart-wrenching second Obi-Wan thought, _That could have been me._

Then the guilt hit him because the thought was utterly selfish and he knew, he _knew_ Anakin would never have done anything so horrible as what was laid out before him now. Because, despite what his eyes were telling him, he knew that it wasn’t Anakin that had choked Padmé with the Force. It wasn’t Anakin who threw her aside and now stared at him with venom-yellow eyes, guilt and shame and most of all anger flowing off him in waves. No, Anakin was of the Light and had been killed by the Dark, by Palpatine’s creeping, corrupt, insidious influence.

The monster that stood before him now wasn’t his former lover. It was nothing more than a shell of a Human wearing Anakin’s face, daring to defile his memory and his person.

And yet he knew, from the moment he ignited his ‘saber, that he wouldn’t be able to kill it, this… this _mockery_ of his Padawan. Not so long as there was a chance that Anakin could return, if he had merely been subdued by the Darkness and not consumed as Obi-Wan so feared.

But the longer the fighting raged, his hope died a little bit more, dampened by the similarities between the beast that pretended to be his former Padawan and Anakin himself and the hateful words that spewed from its mouth, acidic vitriol and warped truths that made his head spin as much as the ash and heat and smoke.

Then, at the end of it all, he stood above the helpless form of Sith that Palpatine had created to carry out his will, three limbs short and the remaining arm unable to haul its weight up the steep, sandy embankment. Not with pity, for the monster didn’t deserve such care, but with regret. If he had chosen differently could all of this pain, the death wrought by the creature suffering on the shore have been avoided?

(Could he have prevented Anakin from choosing the Dark? Or would it all have been in vain?)

Stooping down he picked up Anakin’s lightsaber – despite the evil deeds he knew it had been used to carry out by the Sith, it was still _Anakin’s_ – and glanced back at the monster still struggling to crawl up the ridge.

It caught his eye and snarled, yellowed eyes flashing, “ _I hate you!_ ”

Obi-Wan swallowed, pushed away the pain that flared at hearing those words in Anakin’s voice.

“You were my brother, Anakin,” he said, hating the words even as he spoke them. “I loved you.”

Then the demon’s clothing caught aflame and he ran from the horrible sight, from the tortured screams that he knew would haunt him until his dying day.

15.

Ben was careful to keep his posture relaxed as he watched Luke repair yet another damaged maintenance droid left behind in the Imperials’ haste to abandon the base. Every time he had glimpsed the boy over the years his heart had torn itself open all over again, despite repeated attempts to lock all of those lingering feelings and pains away.

There was no need for Luke to be catching onto his despair, untrained though he may have been in the nuances of the Force. Finesse was no more necessary to see the landscape ravaged and torn apart by war than a Force-sensitive required to sense another’s unshielded and soul-deep anguish.

It was just as well; there was no need to compound Luke’s agony with his own.

When the boy – no, man, there was no sense in choosing to deny it any longer; his experiences since leaving Tatooine had matured him in ways that the farmstead never would have – set down the hydrospanner with a firm and decisive movement, he knew Luke was ready to talk. Ben had expected it for some time now, but had never imagined that it might occur under these particular set of circumstances.

Whether that was a boon or a curse remained to be seen.

“You knew.”

It was not a question. He knew better than to ask that of him. Luke was cleaning the grease from his hands with a similarly stained rag, doing little more than transferring the filth between them. Attention on the droid’s exposed innards he didn’t notice the futility of his attempt; eyes downcast, he failed to see how Ben’s features had unwittingly softened with mixed fondness and pain at the familiarity of the sight. Despite the similarity in temperament to his mother – with the gift of hindsight, he would claim it a benefit for the young man – he was still in many ways his father’s son.

“I did.”

He wished he could spare the young man his pain when he pled in a hollow voice, gaze still downcast, “Why? Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you send me to kill my—”

Luke’s voice finally cracked and broke under the strain, refusing to finish forming the treacherous words he needn’t say. His eyes, once they rose to meet Ben’s, were both terribly familiar and expressive in their suffering. He had seen eyes like those, once, that same sudden departure of naïveté in the worst fashion possible.

Suddenly unable to meet that desperate, pleading regard, he dropped his own eyes to his hands – translucent now, for a death that was only a formality – and admitted in a low voice, “I wanted to protect you, Luke. Knowing that he had Fallen, what he had done, served no purpose but to harm you unnecessarily.”

“Unnecessary!”

The rag suddenly tore between his grasping hands, frayed strings pulled from their once-tight weave by the strength of Luke’s anger and incredulity. Realizing what he was doing the younger man forcibly let out a strained breath and dropped the damaged cloth to the floor, placing his still dirty hands on his knees, allowing smears of dark handprints to ingrain themselves to his clothing.

“But I would have known the truth. That he was still alive. _That_ is what’s important,” he said with more calm than he appeared to possess. Good for him.

“No.” Ben shook his head, willing Luke to see. To _understand_ his reasoning, why it was so vital to Luke’s continued survival. “What’s important is that _you_ are alive and safe. Knowing Vader’s identity would run counterpoint to both of those goals.”

He could feel the spike of anger rising in Anakin’s son again, a low seething boil that refused to dissipate into the Force. “What, because you wanted me to kill him? To finish what the Jedi couldn’t?” _To finish what_ you _couldn’t_ , remained unspoken but he still heard the underlying accusation regardless.

“I wanted nothing but what was best for you,” he responded, staring at the floor through his transparent legs. Ben wondered absently if he could fall through it, if he so wished. He wasn’t actually present in the physical sense of the word, after all.

“Then why is he serving the Emperor?” Luke pressed on, still unsatisfied with the answers he was given. “You said you were friends, once, why didn’t you stop him? Or was that a lie as well?

“Do you even remember his _name_?”

“ _Luke_!” Ben snapped. “That is enough!” The young man’s mouth clacked shut and he turned his head, cheeks set aflame with the strength of his embarrassment. Clearly the conversation had run away from them both, the former hermit decided with an audible sigh. “I do owe you some answers,” he eventually chose to concede, “but I have to say that I expected better behavior from you.”

“’M sorry,” he muttered. Another dull stab of pain shot through the old Jedi and he had to take a moment to compose himself.

“I did know your father, once; that was not a lie, I assure you. And I did try to help him, to stop him, though I had failed on both counts. Before… Before he became the being you see now, I had the opportunity to end his descent. I could have killed him and spared the galaxy over two decades of suffering. But— I couldn’t bear to be the one to end his life, even Fallen as he had become.”

Something subtly shifted in the Force and Luke, who had apparently forgotten his earlier shame to begin leaning closer with interest in the former hermit’s tale, stiffened. Ben didn’t notice the strange reaction, his gaze distant and unseeing.

“If I had worked harder to help him, if I had seen what the war was doing to him, if I had realized the Emperor’s intentions before he began twisting your father… Perhaps we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Would never need to.”

“…And his name?” Luke gently prodded, needing confirmation; _he_ knew it, but after everything else he had learned since the man’s death, he couldn’t be certain without confirmation.

It was some time before the old Jedi spoke again, voice soft and fragile. “Anakin Skywalker.”

A heavy silence stretched on between them, punctuated only by the sound of Luke’s breathing. He ducked his head and fiddled with some loose circuity, nervous and anticipatory. It was none of his business, but after hearing how Ben had – _openly_ – talked about his father he simply had to know.

“You loved him, didn’t you.”

When no answer seemed to be forthcoming, Luke feared he had overstepped his boundaries. He began to fidget nervously, abandoned the frayed and damaged wires  to pick up the abandoned hydrospanner and twirled it between his fingers to try and distract himself from the viscous emptiness of silence.

The answer was so soft that he nearly missed it, between one oscillation of the ‘spanner and the next.

“I did. And I hurt him immensely.”

And then Ben was gone, vanished into the Force once more. Sensing that the spirit had departed and had no plans to return anytime soon, Luke regretfully returned to his task, mind disquieted with thoughts and wonderings of what could have been.


End file.
